Here there’s no limits, no boundaries, and nobody is really sure what is going on…

La machina rex interfectus est

I am writing this from a train from Exeter to London. When we left for a short holiday in the countryside, there was three of us. And no need for a train.
We had been waiting for the summer all summer. Last Sunday, as the weather forecast predicted yet another dreadful rainy windy week, we decided it was high time to leave London for the greener pastures of the southwest.

We dithered and wobbled. The lord was not entirely convinced he wanted to visit the patental home unless there was guaranteed sunshine. There wasn’t , but as the start of the academic year looms in the horizon, we seized the day and packed our bags. An hour later we were on the road. Wanting to make the most of this “green and pleasent land” we meandered through smaller roads, visiting Eton and Windsor and finally Winchester. It was all fine. I even found the last house where Jane Austen lived.

We were happy. Me, the lord and the car, la machina, were ambling along nicely, learning the history of Harold, the last anglo-saxon king and William the Conqueror, all courtesy of wikipedia and the iPhone.
Then, it all changed. La machina started to make a terrible noise and could hardly climb the hills.
We made it to Exeter. Only just, it appears. The next morning we called the mechanic to take a look at the engine. It was pronounced near defunct! This morning, the lord took la machina to the scrap yard. He got £70 in exchange.
All that remains of that once powerful little master of the Italian motorways, is memories.
I console myself thinking that it will become a compact square of metal, which in turn will re-in-CAR-nate in another car!